Modulation
by alittlecranberry
Summary: "Modulation is the essential part of the art. Without it there is little music, for a piece derives its true beauty not from the large number of fixed modes which it embraces but rather from the subtle fabric of its modulation" (c)Charles-Henri Blainville


It wasn't like he expected something. In fact, he had never expected anything.

Nevermind.

Being a nation was pretty hard for him for only one reason. He couldn't keep himself busy with any kind of work. This was a vital feature of every immortal creature. You should always keep yourself busy so there wouldn't be enough time for seeking the purpose of your existence.

Because you are never going to find out. And this leads you to the Despair's embrace.

Which was a cold embrace. Ivan knew this. He knew because every single day of his life was senseless. The people he met, other nations, politics, meaningless disputes, foolish antagonism, and the needs of his country...

And he wasn't able to see the reason. Why?

Most of nations just work as hard as they could. That helps. They carry out their duties and prefer to not think too much about personal life. Once they manage to fulfill all the obligations, they receive new ones and the stupid papers rescued poor nations' minds from evil doubts even though their paperwork is pretty useless for everything is decided by their governments either way.

Ignorance is bliss.

They knew everything, but most of them couldn't accept that. That Game they all play requires anything but morality. That Game has its own rules. It is too frightening to lose. So, they followed every single law. Thankfully, there are only few of them.

He played this Game himself but his spirit was too fond of seeking the Truth and his mind could not be occupied by silly papers. He was that kind of person who always wanted to know wether there was a lofty aim of his life, of all nations' lives. That was so important, so vital...

But still meant nothing.

That was the condition of Ivan Braginsky.

He was used to that condition, though, and he didn't care about all this nonsense. He found the way to avoid both work and depressing thoughts. Knitting. Gardening (he liked to plant apple-trees). Sometimes, reading, but not too much since it could cause some undesired things occuring to him. Sometimes cooking. Sometimes (and, needless to say, those were very rare times) cleaning the house. After all, he was not a young boy and he knew how to manage all that shit, but there were moments during his natural laziness where that viscous grey depression took its revenge.

And then he tried to do something, _anything_ again.

ooo

When did it begin? How?

Was it back than in 1873, when they spent few hours in private for the first time, or did it happen in Rapallo? Maybe, that was a consequence of the 20-s, _their_ 20-s?

_Their._ That's how Ivan called it. Their 20-s. Because he was a dreamer. He had always been hopeful.

But there was no hope. One day he just realised that.

That was the feature he hated about himself the most. There had always been some space for hope in his exhausted heart. That hope had always been hurting him. In politics, you need cold-blooded premeditation and rationalism. Hope is not even remotely resembling either. Hope is dangerous. It makes you believe in kindness, fairness, justice... Hope can destroy you if you deal with politics, if you are a nation.

And he buried it in his heart with the invaluable help of his mind.

Anyways, he would never understand either how or when he fell in love. But when he realised that fatal mistake his heart had allowed to happen, he knew exactly what he would do about it.

Nothing.

ooo

Why him? That was pretty simple. The very first time Ivan met him he immediately recognized that he was not an average European country. He was not like _others._ Ivan would describe it as light. The kind of light that was radiating around people who knew who they were. Who knew why they existed.

His calm was born of his power. His solidity was impressive for a being so young. His confidence was his beauty. He was the representation of peace and rest itself – the things Ivan had been longing for so many years.

Ludwig had some kind of special power which Ivan had never had and, to be honest, had never wanted to have. He just wanted to be led by that power and to know that power would do anything and everything to protect him. That careful hidden from everyone – including himself – desire to be led, to feel secure, to feel restful, that desire reminded him about its presence on the depth of his spirit. Such dreams are the most deadly thing a nation could have. The game of politicians and diplomats is merciless and any kind of weakness can kill you if you haven't hide it well enough.

Ludwig was the person he had been looking forward to, but he had never realised he did.

ooo

Germany was like a total fool when it came to dealing with people and their emotions or human intentions. He sincerely could not understand how _these people_ worked and, thanks to that, he immediately received a nickname of _wooden-hearted _by Francis who could not refuse mocking the nation that was born despite his reluctance. And this is how Ludwig established his not-so-good reputation.

In fact, the nation had got a real heart and real feelings. The problem was that he never could understand himself and his own wishes. He was a man of logics and calculating. In his opinion, people were absolutely incomprehensible.

No way he would ever confess it, though.

He could not show his best feelings any other way but helping. He wouldn't heap praises on a person and he would never admit he needed someone's help, or _love._ But he would always help if you call him. And he'd appreciate the gratitude as the most important thing a human being could ever give him – and it was that what he had been always waiting for. _The gratitude._

But he would never understand that himself.

ooo

"Russia, what do you want?"

"Should I answer honestly?"

"Yes, please do."

"I have no clue myself!"

Germany let out a heavy annoyed sigh. Talking with Russia had always been something difficult for him. That nation was one of the weirdest on Earth... Whatever.

"Actually," Russia began to speak again "I do have a clue. Not as you are interested, though."

"Oh, my god, Russia..."

"Am I?" Russia meet the baffled look in the other's eyes.

"You have just said I am your god. And I thought that _God was dead._ I am pleased."

"Russia!"

That strange gleam in Braginsky's eyes... Ludwig grew wary. What if Russia was scheming something more dangerous?

"Sorry, I could not resist. You see, the problem is that we will never understand each other." Some muscles on the face of the Russian winced but Germany did not pay much attention.

"So, you want to say that all of our conversations are useless?"

"Germany."

"Yes?"

"What is your favourite colour?"

Now Germany was frustrated.

"Sorry?"

"I asked what your favourite colour was."

"Is this important?"

"Yes. If you want our conversations to be a little bit more productive, of course."

"I don't have one."

"Ah." Germany looked at his companion trying to guess what the point of the conversation was. And how could colours help the whole situation?

"Mine is blue..." mused Russia. He quickly stood up and walked away, leaving puzzled Germany all by himself.

ooo

Germany was truly concerned about that conversation. He couldn't get it out of his head. And he did not like it. At all.

Neither did Russia. He was blaming himself for this stupid behaviour, for his stupid question, his stupid attraction, and for _th__at__ hope_. For the thing he was not allowed to have.

One day, after another dull meeting Russia called Ludwig for "a couple of minutes".

"I am sorry for that stupid nonsense of mine. You know. That nonsense with colours and all."

"Ah, never mind. I've forgotten about this already."

"Hope so. Good bye."

"Good bye."

ooo

"...well, welcome, I presume."

Germany came to Russia to give him back some documents about some economical crap – the Russian didn't care at all. The only thing occupied his mind at the moment – here Ludwig was and he hadn't expected him to pay a visit. Feelings overwhelmed him and he cannot come up with anything to say. _He hadn't expected this. _Actually, Russia was preparing his precious apple-trees for winter, and he had been in such blissful peace until the German came and disturbed every fiber of his being. It would be so much easier if the man called him in advance!

"I'll make a cup of tea..."

"Thank you, but I don't want tea."

"Coffee?"

"That would be nice of you."

Ivan immediately put down all the pine branches he'd held and rushed into the house. Ludwig followed him.

"Sorry, I disturbed you."

"Oh, no-no-no! Don't worry! That's fine!"

"What were you doing, by the way?"

"I was preparing the trees for winter. And the branches are used to keep them warm. I must wrap every apple-tree in these branches in my garden in time but I don't think I'll be able to have all the work done by myself..."

"Do you need help?"

That was it. Germany offered his help, even though he wasn't sure why he did so. He wasn't sure about anything when this strange man was near him. Not after that odd and muddling chat about damned colours.

"Well, I do."

ooo

After few hours of hard working they decided to take a little break, for both of them were pretty exhausted. Needless to say, Ludwig liked this kind of activity with Ivan. There was something _peaceful_ about it. He really felt like the other man was ready to listen to him, and it was not like he showed his weakness to him. No. Ivan turned out to be a very sympathetic person. Even though they had not talked about anything serious, Ludwig just could feel it somehow.

In addition, Germany started to notice some interesting details.

For example, Russia was feminine in some way.

Of course he didn't mean Braginsky's appearance. One must be blind, or drunk or extremely high to claim something like this. But sometimes Ludwig could not help but notice how lovely the smile on his face (men didn't smile like that) and how sly that strange gleam in his eyes were.

Russia was a mystery Germany wanted to unearth.

"Thank you."

"Hm?"

"Thank you very much for helping me with the garden. That was very generous of you. I really do appreciate the fact you waste your time on my needs. You know, not everyone can act the same way."

A small pleased smile dawned on Ludwig's lips.

"You are welcome."

ooo

How did it happen? He would never knew. He just began to spend more time with _one particular Russian__,_and he couldn't understand why he did so, but every time there was an opportunity to spend an hour with him, he excused himself for these visits. He felt comfortable there. Russia was not loud, his voice flew calmingly, making Ludwig drown in strange phantasmagoric worlds. Sometimes Ludwig helped Ivan with some chores and Ivan was so grateful that the German himself found such help very pleasing and enjoyable. Moreover, the Russian was always so delighted about the other man's presence, he always looked at him with such admiration, and when Ludwig was telling him something Ivan was trying to catch every single word. Finally, Germany felt relaxed.

One day, Germany realised that he would not like to lose this warmth and peace. That was a day Russia sang to him.

That song was charming and despite the smoothness of the voice and melody, the lyrics made it thrilling.

_Над дорогой Смоленскою, как твои глаза, _

_Две холодных звезды голубых моей судьбы._

Two cold blue stars of _his_ destiny. Was Russia singing for him? Was it coincidence? Why was he singing him _this_ song? And that was not just a song. Ivan was singing him a romance.

_По Смоленской дороге метель в лицо, в лицо,_  
><em>Всё нас из дому гонят дела, дела, дела.<em>  
><em>Может<em>_, __будь__понадёжнее__рук твоих кольцо_  
><em>Покороче б, наверно, дорога мне легла...<em>

What? Why? Why this song? Why these lyrics?

What did it mean?

But Ivan didn't stop his performance and continued singing, piercing Ludwig with his inhumane eyes. There was great grief in these eyes but Ludwig would never notice...

He was confused. Again.

Was Russia asking hin for his embrace? Or was it just the lyrics?

When Ivan finished, Ludwig stood up and came to him. He took the other's hand and looked right in the man's eyes.

"What was that?" Russian smiled at him. "Does it mean anything?"

"No. Not at all. This is just a song. A romance. I like romances. That's it."

A short silence followed.

"I see. Fine then."

ooo

This was a disaster. He did not know what to do. He had not expected _th__is__._ This was inappropriate. This was dangerous.

But he couldn't stop thinking about that damn Braginsky.

Ludwig was suffering. He couldn't stand any kind of heart-searching and such things, but he also couldn't help but reflect on the whole situation. That was the reason for him to spend even more time with Ivan because there was nothing but rest there event though every time he was back from that damn house he was even more frustrated.

Ivan was suffering. Ivan was happy. Ivan didn't know what to do but he knew what he _wanted_ to do. But things he wanted to do were inappropriate.

He wanted to be led by him. By Ludwig.

He was the Russian Federation and the Russian Federation is a proud and independent country which went its own way. His nation would never forget such a mistake – he'd lose the Game. Because of some stupid attraction. Because of love.

"Hey, Russia?"

"Hm?"

"What if we were human?" Germany was now piercing the other with his blue eyes. _Two cold stars of somebody's destiny._

"I don't know. I know only, that everything would be much easier."

"And why is everything so hard for us?"

"Everyone knows why. There are so many things we are not allowed to do..."

"I believe we're allowed to do too much."

"We _must_ do too much. And that's the other side of this coin and that's what I'm talking about. We are not allowed to have mercy. If our governments tell us o fight, we will fight and we'll fight brutally because there is no escape from the rules every nation must follow."

"I see what you mean, but, we are still humans. Partly. I mean, I've got some good friends..."

"And what if you had some kind of compromising information about any of your _friends_? You know it as well as I do, Ludwig. Any information is used sooner or later and you always have information about people you keep in touch with. _Scientia potentia est._"

"It is, indeed. But I can always try to avoid the topic of politics..."

"Obviously. But you know that in politics, we use _any_ kind of information."

"I prefer not to confuse the personal life with this mess."

"You have a point. But isn't it too difficult?"

"I manage."

"Good." That smile again.

"Russia."

"Hm?"

"What do you think about... our relationships?"

"I'm not sure what I think."

"How is that?"

"Somehow."

ooo

These strange relations continued for almost 2 years. They paid each other visits and talked about everything that occurred to them. The more time they spent like this – the more desperate both of them became. Russia could not let himself to think about any even stranger relations. But Germany could. And so he did.

Because _why not?_

It was a day in the late November. They walked together in some nice German park chatting about some silly nonsense. When the comfortable silence finally fell Ludwig decided that was the moment he had been waited for.

"Ivan?"

"Hm?"

"I wonder... what if we try something with our relationships?" The Russian turned chalk.

"What do you mean?"

There was no answer. At least, not verbal.

Ludwig was embracing him. Then he staggered back but only to put a small, almost innocent kiss on Ivan's cheek.

Ivan could not breath. In his head large bells were ringing and his legs were unwilling to carry him any more. He leaned on the German and embraced him back as hard as he could in such poor condition.

They stand like that for a while and didn't pay any attention on passers-by. They were happy. They knew there would be problems and fights and there would always be politics between them but now they realised that the Game had no rules for love.

_God is dead._

* * *

><p><em>Над дорогой Смоленскою, как твои глаза,<em>

_Две холодных звезды голубых моей судьбы._

_По Смоленской дороге метель в лицо, в лицо,_  
><em>Всё нас из дому гонят дела, дела, дела.<em>  
><em>Может<em>_, __будь __понадёжнее р__ук твоих кольцо_  
><em>Покороче б, наверно, дорога мне легла...<em>

The lyrics of a beautiful Russian romance. The name of the song is По Смоленской дороге.

_Over the Smolenskaya road, like your eyes (similiar to your eyes),_

_There are the two stars of my destiny_

_Over the Smolenskaya road the snowstorm — at the face, at the face (no verb here)_

_The business, the business, the business is making us rush from home_

_Maybe, if the ring of your arms was more robust,_

_Then perhaps the road would seem shorter for me._

Heaven knows, I tried to translate this as accurate as possible.

_Scientia potentia est_ – Knowledge is power (Lingua latina, yo)


End file.
